


Knife to Meet You

by Darkhymns



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Tone Shift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 03:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8129069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkhymns/pseuds/Darkhymns
Summary: Toriel teaches Sans how to bake. It's a normal day for them both. Nothing can go wrong.





	

**Author's Note:**

> will I ever stop writing these two? ~~send help~~
> 
> A quick story based off [this prompt.](http://myrobotlandlord.tumblr.com/post/150861165906/undertale-fic-prompt-77-domestic-surface-life)

 

Sans is a quick learner, in all seriousness here. When the lady behind the door detailed to him the recipe for the butterscotch pie, it only took him an extra try or two to bake the treat without burning the filling, and only forgetting the milk that one time. Sometimes he does cheat a little, buying the premade pie crusts instead of making his own from scratch. But he’ll try anything once, and had gone through the ordeal of mixing the butter, beating up the dough, and even putting in the little details to the edges of the crusts for fun – by stamping his bro’s miniature skull-shaped cookie cutter that he used for his lasagnas. Essentially, Sans didn’t actually need pie-baking lessons.

“so like, you put in the flour, the salt, and the parmesan cheese, right?”

Toriel playfully plunked his skull with a rubber spatula, her muzzle upturned in a grin. “Of course not! You must mix the flour, the salt, and the _sugar_ for the pie crust. And then you add the butter!”

“sugar, cheese, yeah i always get those confused.”

He just really liked watching Toriel work, and she liked teaching him. It made her smile, and it made him smile. Well, more than usual. Feigning a little ignorance never hurt anybody.

The baking session today should have been quick but Sans was a fan of goofing off, and Toriel never seemed to mind. The kitchen was a total mess. Some of the eggs in the carton had just gone plain missing, and there was flour _everywhere_ – on the cabinets, in Toriel’s fur, on Sans’ face. The pie lessons were an excuse for sharing more jokes, or giving the _scoop_ (they were planning on having ice cream with their pies afterward) on what other embarrassing antics Frisk had done the other day. They eventually got the pie into the oven, Sans’ mission to extend his stay with her finally thwarted once he heard the timer ding.

He was already coming up with new scenarios for more lessons. Toriel liked making other treats, like chocolate muffins, or little monster-kid cookies. He could just ask for her good ol’ teaching ways in those – just telling her that he wanted to spend time with her sounded boring, and he didn’t want to be boring for her.

“Now up next is the taste test!” Toriel, still with her flour-stained apron on, placed the pie carefully onto the counter. She used no oven mitts, not needing them as her fire-based magic coated her hands, protecting her from the pie-tin’s searing heat.

“guess we did all this for nothing,” Sans commented with a wink. “i got no tastebuds.”

Toriel rolled her eyes, but laughter escaped her throat nonetheless. “Sans, are you worried your pie won’t meet up with your high standards? I would hope you would have more confidence in my teaching abilities.”

“nah, got no worries, teach. just think that pie would be wasted on me. don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”

“Then why did you want all these lessons?”

“cuz i like making you do stuff for me.”

She laughed again at that, pushing his shoulder slightly. The contact was warm and nice, so much so that he didn’t mind that she nearly toppled him over the stool he was standing on for the tall kitchen counter.

“Then I shall try it and tell you of my thoughts.” She took out a dish from the still-dirty cabinets, placing it next to the baked pie. “Could you hand me that knife?”

“you got it.”

Sans slid off the stool to get to the utensil drawer. He reached for the biggest of the knives there, meant for slicing a tough crust, its handle black, and its blade sharply polished-

_(Something about it is piercing, cutting, sheathing within the snowdrifts and catching the rays of reflected sunlight. Covered in grime and water and dust. It has not been cleaned all this time. It’s been through feathers, through metal, though bone, and with each swipe against him, he can see little particles drift off its edge. They’re all mixed together, every last fallen monster, including his brother, but its stained with so much else that he can never hope to differentiate which is which and then it swings backwards and there is a sickening **crunch-** )_

Toriel turned to him at the sound of the knife clattering.

“Sans?”

He picked it up from the floor, carrying it straight to the sink. “sorry about that.”

“Are you alright?” She paused. “Did you sleep well? You seem exhausted suddenly.”

“nah, i’m good.” Sans ran the blade under the water, despite his loyalty to the five-second rule. It glimmered slightly under the kitchen’s ceiling lights. He left it by the drain, too lazy for the soap. “just got a case of butter fingers.”

Toriel narrowed her eyes with a smirk. “Are you trying to tell me that you ate all the butter again?”

“whoops.” He shrugged, his grin the most innocent looking expression there ever was, seriously. “guess i butter run for it, huh?”

“That is your worst one yet!”

“hey you know me.” His voice grew more confident at the sound of her bleating laughter. “and you always butter me up for it.”

She tried to sigh in disapproval, but failed spectacularly. “You used that joke yesterday!”

“tori i’m only one skeleton and there’s only so much butter available.” Toriel was heaving, her laughter taking more control. “of which there is none.” More snorted giggles and even Sans let out a chuckle or two. “because i ate it and-”

“Sans, the knife!” Toriel playfully pushed him away, trying to fix her expression back to some form of seriousness. “Or the pie will get cold.”

“alright, alright.” Sans went back to the drawer, and picked up the knife with no problems this time. This one had a blade much thinner than the last, and the handle was metal instead of black plastic. On first glance, it looked like a (heh) butter knife, but he saw that the blade had been visibly filed down to make it safer. Almost like a toy. Hey, a toy knife. Probably something Toriel had done for Frisk. Well, the pie crust was always pretty soft and flaky, so this was probably good enough.

He held it in his hand long enough for another of those… images to jump out at him. Yet there was nothing this time, and even the clamminess in his fingers had gone away. _Must have been a bad daydream._ He should really stop having those.

“here we are.” Sans walked up to Toriel, still half-wondering what that had been all about that he nearly handed her the knife blade-first instead of the hilt. “oh, hold on-”

Toriel gasped.

He looked straight at her, stock still. She grew pale underneath her fur, her eyes wide and distant, staring at the knife he held before her. Her hands trembled, one reaching up to touch her left cheek, brushing at something she thought was there.

“Y... you... really hate me that much?”

Sans was utterly confused. “what? tori?”

Her mouth curled into a smile – a frantic one, showing off her fangs as her entire body shook. She didn’t look at him still, her gaze still riveted to that knife. “Now I see who I was protecting… by keeping you here! Not you! But…” She fell to her knees.

He ditched the knife instantly, going up to her. “tori!” Her body rocked forward, and despite how much heavier she was compared to his bones, he held her up. Fingers held the back of her head, threading through fur for an easy grip. He had to shift his stance to keep his balance, and only used a fraction of his blue magic to ease away the strain her weight was causing to his body. “tori, it’s – it’s fine. it’s okay.”

“No…” Toriel continued to shake. She wept into his collar, though she kept her hands to herself, one clutching at her chest as if it had been… as if it had been…

“tori, look at me.” He took her face in his hands, watching how the tears fell freely from her eyes. She was so white, as if the heat of her magic had left her body completely. “you’re here, okay? you’re out of the ground with everyone, with me. it’s all fine.”

It was a long while before he saw the fogginess leave her eyes. He kept her face near his, giving her something to latch onto instead of whatever else she was seeing, whatever else she must have dreamt, or-

He didn’t like these implications at all.

Toriel closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, they were the gentle red he had come to know. She still cried, but her breath was not so full of heaviness, and her tears were drying. “Sans, I –” She looked around the kitchen, then back to him. “I just… I thought I was… in the Ruins and…” She shivered in his arms. “And Frisk, they’d…”

“it’s okay, t.” He brushed the palm of his bony hand against her cheek, the one she had reached out to in fear. “just a bad dream.”

“While… I was awake…?”

He shrugged. “it happens. guess i must be rubbing off on you.” She didn’t laugh, and neither did he. Instead, Toriel leaned forward to rest her head on his right shoulder, despite that, even when kneeling, she was still a head taller than him. He let her do so, embracing her tightly.

“just a bad dream,” he told her again, voice low, almost a whisper. “but you’re awake now, and you’re with me.”

“…Thank you, Sans.” She sniffed, her own hands reaching out to him. Both monsters clung to each other on the kitchen floor, the pie they had made now becoming lukewarm. “Thank you.”

“s’no problem.” He patted her back. He saw her shift her knees slightly. “comfortable for you?”

“Not so much.”

“want me to let go?”

She hugged him fiercely. “No, please.”

“hey, i’m fine with it.” One hand idly traced down the back of her head. “whenever you’re ready.”

They stayed that way for a while. Sans would have appreciated the closeness more if it weren’t for the bad feeling in his spine. Or his sternum actually, where the knife had _cut through him mercilessly, tired of him, tired of everyone._

He bumped his skull against her own head, and kept close. He had to believe it would all be okay; for her, at least, if not for him.


End file.
